Heated
by IndigoNightandRayneStorm
Summary: Darren’s having nightmares. Post Vampire Prince, very vague foreshadowing for book nine. Angst and shmoop warnings. TWOSHOT.
1. Fire

**Title: **Heated

**Author: **IndigoNight

**Summary: **Darren's having nightmares.

**Feedback: **Yes please, yay reviews!

**Pairing: **Could be taken as either a parental, or an at least one-sided slashy DarrenxCrepsley, your choice.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Cirque Du Freak or the characters I'm just borrowing them for fun.

**Spoilers: **Through 6, with vague foreshadowing for 9

**Warnings: **Angst, violent and gory imagery, could be slash, very vaguely implied character death.

**Author's Note: **I just couldn't resist. Take Darren, a little PTSD, Crepsley, and a coffin and you've got some beautiful shmoop. It will be two chapters, the second one hopefully posted tomorrow.

As a side note, this happens to be Rayne and I's 250th posted fic here on , which just makes me feel like a very accomplished looser. I'm so proud of us :D

Anyways, Read, Review, and most importantly,

**Enjoy!**

_Everything was hazy, thick smoking hanging in the air, making it not only difficult to breathe but also impossible to see more than a few feet ahead. The entire room was a vibrant orange glow, burning the eyes just as painfully as the flesh._

_Darren ducked, rolled, and leapt as fast as he could but it seemed nowhere was safe from the scourge. Another jet burst to life inches to his left and he cried out as red and black blisters bubbled up along his arm. It seemed there was no oxygen at all left in the room, smoke filling his lungs instead of life giving air. He coughed violently, falling to his knees as the fit tore through him. He had to keep moving, had to keep fighting. But his legs trembled and gave way beneath him as he coughed again._

_No matter how hard he tried he couldn't make his legs support him anymore. He was in more pain than he'd ever imagined possible, it seeming like there was no part of his body left that wasn't burned. He knew he'd be crying if he had the moisture to spare but it had all evaporated. There was no relief to be found anywhere._

_He lay there weakly, waiting for death. He wondered vaguely which would come first, another burst of flame to roast him alive or suffocation from the smoke. He wanted to close his stinging eyes but pride stopped him, he refused to die cowering like a child._

_He was certain his last moments were upon him when dark looming figures began to appear through the smoke. But he felt no relief, he wasn't saved. The shapes were huge and ominous, filling him with an inexplicable dread. He caught flashes of purple skin through the flames drawing ever closer. They were evil, they were coming for him, and he could do nothing about it but lie there weakly and watch._

_But suddenly yet another group of figures appeared, this time leaping to engage the vampaneze in battle. Red slashed across the orange, screams tearing through the air._

_Painfully Darren rolled onto his knees, determined to somehow join the fray, but his legs still refused to hold him. The best he could manage was a slow crawl on his hands and knees. He hated being so helpless, especially when his friends were busy fighting for their lives._

_The pipes just to the right of his hand suddenly started to rumble and he quickly rolled out of the way, only to hit the legs of a massive vampaneze. It toppled over on top of him, dead with a knife in its chest, knocking the wind out of him. He struggled with the dead weight pressing down on him, sticky blood seeping over him and into his burns. The pipes rumbled again, this time directly under him. In a panic he redoubled his efforts but it was no use. He resigned himself, this time it was for sure. The end. His heart thumped madly, fear surging through him, his eyes blurring and losing focus._

_As he waited for death to come he noticed a particular streak of flame through a break in the smoke. Instead of the vertical jet it should have been it seemed to be moving toward him at an alarming rate. A mass of vibrant red topped off with a shock of orange drawing ever closer. Then he realized it wasn't a flame at all, but Mr. Crepsley rushing to his rescue._

_A brief shot of hope flashed through him, but before Crepsley could reach him another dark figure loomed up out of the smoke. The thick hazy drifted away to reveal the distorted figure of Kurda Smahlt, but he was not as Darren had last seen him. His face was misshapen, vicious crooked teeth hanging from an open leering mouth, scarred and bloody and loathsome. But worst of all was the thick bloated purple arm raised high above his head, hand gripping a long wicked knife, which was pointed directly at Mr. Crepsley's back!_

*8*8*

Larten Crepsley was startled out of a deep sleep by a scream. Leaping out of his coffin he was immediately tensed for a fight. Finding no enemies in his room he realized that the jarring sound was coming from the cell next door.

Quickly rushing in he found Darren on the floor, having fallen from his hammock. He was twisted up in his blanket, thrashing wildly against it, apparently locked in a nightmare.

"Darren," he called, kneeling beside the boy and gripping his shoulders, "Darren, wake up!"

Darren moaned, head rolling limply even as his arms pushed outward as though attempting to shove Crepsley away from him. "No!" he cried, "No… don't hurt him…stop…"

"Darren!" Crepsley called again, shaking him a little, "You are dreaming, wake up!" Letting go of one of his assistant's shoulders he cupped his chin, stilling Darren's head and studying his face. To his surprise his fingers met with wetness on Darren's cheeks and he realized that tears were streaming down his face.

Darren woke abruptly with a gasp, one hand automatically grasping Crepsley's shirt in a death grip. He was panting, trembling all over, drenched in sweat and tears. His eyes were wide, filled with terror and pain and his grasp on Crepsley's shirt tightened.

Crepsley ignored the little holes Darren's nails were making in his shirt, waiting for Darren's eyes to focus.

He shuddered as the last vestiges of the nightmare released its grip on him. Slowly he blinked, eyes focusing on Crepsley. "M-Mr. Crepsley?" his voice was rough from screaming and he sounded younger than he was. He was still trembling but he forced himself to release his mentor, sitting back a little.

"That was quite the nightmare," Crepsley observed, watching his assistant closely.

"Yeah," Darren mumbled, not looking at him, "Sorry I woke you."

"Do you… want to talk about it?" he asked a little awkwardly. Vampires by nature were not in the practice of comforting one another and therefore he wasn't very good at it. But Darren was still shaking and he looked so very young he couldn't just brush it off like he would if it were anyone else.

Darren shook his head however, quickly wiping the tears from his face as though to pretend they'd never been. He took a deep breath, stilling his trembling. "No, I'm okay," he said, voice still rougher than usual, "You can go back to bed."

Crepsley hesitated, then nodded slowly and stood. On his way to the door however Darren's voice made him pause.

"Thanks for waking me," he said softly.

Crepsley nodded curtly and quickly left. Though he wouldn't admit it, even to himself, he was all too happy to escape the high awkward tension in the air.

*8*8*

Darren slumped back against the wall. His blanket lay in a twisted heap a few feet away and his hammock had somehow gotten knotted. He wasn't sure where Harkat was but he wasn't anywhere in sight.

After waiting a few moments to listen as Mr. Crepsley returned to his coffin, he was certain he was alone he allowed his scarred, bald head to sink into his hands. A silent sob shuddered through him. The dream had been so vivid, so real. Even though he was awake now his heart still thudded with the terror and helplessness he'd felt and his skin still tingled in remembrance of the fiery pain.

Although the dream hadn't been real, it had consisted of a variety distorted and patched together memories, the wounds of which were still all too fresh.

He still bore the scars from his trial in the Hall of Fire, and he still vividly remembered the tense pain of it. Although there had been no battle during his trial the one that had occurred shortly after had been his first real taste of large scale violence and the faces of the vampaneze he'd killed that day still haunted him. But worst of all the image of his one time friend, mutated by his subconscious into one of the vampaneze he'd allied himself with aiming a knife at the back of one of Darren's friends was all too real, although Mr. Crepsley had not been the original target.

He shuddered again. Just the thought of Mr. Crepsley being stabbed made him feel as though it was his own heart that had been pierced. Unable to dwell on that thought he quickly shoved it to the back of his mind along with the rest of the horrid dream.

Resigning himself to getting no more sleep that day he stood stiffly and headed for the Hall of Perta Vin-Grahl in hopes that a cold shower would wash his childish fears away.

The shower did do him good and by the time he was finished it was time to report to the Hall of Prince. Every night he spent his time there learning how to be a vampire of good standing, and a prince. The lessons left him exhausted and by the end of the night his head was pounding from everything he'd tried to cram into it and all he could think of was crawling into his hammock for a solid day's sleep. All thoughts of the day before's nightmare were far from his mind. That was, until the heat started.

**TBC....**


	2. Smoke

**Title: **Heated

**Author: **IndigoNight

**Summary: **Darren's having nightmares.

**Feedback: **Yes please, yay reviews!

**Pairing: **Could be taken as either a parental, or an at least one-sided slashy DarrenxCrepsley, your choice.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Cirque Du Freak or the characters I'm just borrowing them for fun.

**Spoilers: **Through 6, with vague foreshadowing for 9

**Warnings: **Angst, violent and gory imagery, could be slash, very vaguely implied character death.

**Author's Note: **Alright, here it is, chapter two. Sorry about the wait. Yes, I know, its kinda cheesy, but you know what, bite me. I attempted to start reading book ten today and I couldn't do it because it made me cry. I needed some shmoop.

Anyways, Read, Review, and most importantly,

**Enjoy!**

As weeks passed Darren found no relief, and neither did the other vampires whose rooms were near his. Day after day he was plagued by the same nightmare, and every time it got worse. More bloody, more violent. Every day he woke screaming, most often to Harkat or Mr. Crepsley's concerned face, sometimes to some other friend who'd heard him and come to make sure everything was alright. But worst of all were the days when the dream-smoke prevented him from screaming very loud, or at all, and no one came, forcing him to see the dream through to the end. He'd hold Mr. Crepsley, watching the life drain out of him, getting covered in his blood, pleading uselessly with him not to go. Then he'd wake, usually on the floor, alone and frightened. His heart pounded and hands shook, his back pressed against the cold stone wall.

At those times he would remember being younger and crawling into bed with his parents after a nightmare. The sudden, powerful desire to go join Mr. Crepsley in his coffin would take him; he wouldn't have to be afraid of the older vampire dying if he was right there close enough to hear his heartbeat and feel his warmth he reasoned. But he never did. No matter how badly he wanted to, he wasn't a child anymore and Vampire Princes, even young half-vampire ones, did not go crawling into other people's coffin terrified of some silly shadow fabricated by their subconscious.

Soon he found himself avoiding sleep as much as he could. He refused to speak to anyone about his dream, ashamed of his weakness and much preferring to, once awake, pretend it had never existed. Instead he threw himself into his studies, dedicating himself entirely to his duties. He spent any spare time practicing his fighting, even after the others had gone to bed, determined to stay awake. He hoped that if he worked hard enough by the time he inevitably did fall asleep he'd been far too worn out to dream.

But it never worked. Every time he closed his eyes the heat would creep over him and the smoke would choke his lungs.

Before long the lack of sleep began to seriously disrupt his life. No matter how hard he tried he fell behind in his studies, forgetting things he'd been told only moments before, making careless mistakes in everything he did. His appetite waned, for both food and blood. He spoke little, and started conversations not at all, only answering when asked a direct question, and sometimes not even that. Most of the time it was as though he wasn't entirely aware of what was going on around him, stuck in some hellish twilight, fighting desperately to escape the nightmare that haunted him, and yet unable to stop thinking about it.

He was wasting away. His clothes hung loosely on his Most of the time it was as though he wasn't entirely aware of what was going on around him, stuck in some hellish twilight, fighting desperately to escape the nightmare that haunted him, and yet unable to stop thinking about it.

He was wasting away. His clothes hung loosely on his emaciated frame, his eyes dull and haunted. His skin had become thin and papery, far paler than even a vampire's ought to be.

Everyone was concerned for the young Prince, but Darren refused to discuss it and they didn't know what they could do. Finally, Crepsley decided enough was enough. Darren was going to talk to him whether he liked it or not.

When once again that day he was woken by Darren's cries he immediately rushed over in a routine that had become all too familiar. Gripping Darren's shoulders lightly and shaking him, calling his name. Only this time Darren didn't wake.

"No…" he moaned, struggling weakly against Crepsley's hold, "No… watch out… don't…"

Calling Darren's name again he shook him a little harder. To his shock Darren's entire body jerked, going rigid, and a scream of utter heartbreak tore from his lips. Crepsley was so surprised he nearly dropped Darren, but recovered himself just in time to re-secure his grip before Darren started thrashing more violently than ever.

"No! Mr. Crep-" he cried before he was cut off by a violent fit of coughing. Tears streamed unchecked down his face and his entire body shook with deep wracking sobs.

Crepsley stared at him, temporarily stunned senseless. Before he'd wanted to know what Darren was dreaming about, but now he _had_ to know. What could Darren possibly be dreaming about him that could invoke this kind of reaction?

Abruptly Darren's eyes shot open with a gasp. He took half a second to orient himself before his eyes landed on Crepsley and he flung himself at his mentor. Throwing his arms around his neck he clutched the back of Crepsley's shirt and buried his face in his shoulder.

Just as he'd begun to get over his first shock he was for the second time that day stunned senseless. Darren's tears quickly soaked his shoulder, his too thin frame wracked with sobs. Crepsley stiffen, unsure what to do. After a moment or two he slowly brought his arms around and wrapped them around his young assistant. Darren clutched tighter as Crepsley held him. He was stiff an uncomfortable t first, unused to such dramatic physical contact, however soon instinct kicked in and he began to gently rub Darren's back soothingly.

"I c-can't do it anymore," Darren sobbed, voice muffled by the fabric he'd pressed his face into, "I'm sorry, I can't."

"Cannot do what, Darren?" The boy felt so fragile that Crepsley automatically lowered his voice, making it softer and gentler, afraid of breaking him.

"Watch it… live it… over and over…" his voice broke and cracked, forcing him to pause to take huge shuddering breaths.

"Tell me." It wasn't a request; it was a demand, but a gentle one.

Darren sat back, working hard to compose himself and Crepsley feared he would shut down again and refuse to talk. He wiped his face vigorously, removing the remaining tears and took several deep, stabilizing breaths.

"It usually helps to talk about dreams," Crepsley prodded.

Darren closed his eyes and nodded slowly. "It starts in the Hall of Fire," he began so softly that if he hadn't already practically been sitting in Crepsley's lap the older vampire probably wouldn't have been able to hear him. He told Crepsley about the dream, leaving out several of the details, like the unbearable pain of the fire and the utter terror he felt when he saw the dark shapes of the vampaneze advancing on him. It didn't take long, there wasn't really that much to tell though in the dream it felt like it lasted forever. He stopped however when it came time to talk about Kurda and his knife.

"He stabbed… Gavner," he finished lamely, "It's a bunch of mixed up memories really." He couldn't meet Crepsley's eyes.

Crepsley was silent for several long moments, mulling it over. Finally he said quietly, "It was not Gavner's name you cried out."

Darren jerked, eyes widening.

"Who does Kurda really stab, Darren?" he pressed, holding his assistant's gaze.

Darren met his eyes for several long, frozen moments, eyes wide and hands trembling. At length he lowered his eyes, unable to look at Mr. Crepsley anymore. "You," he mumbled.

"Darren, death is a way of life for us. All living beings must eventually die," he said seriously. Vampires were not in the habit of lying for the sake of comfort. "That being said," he continued, "I have no intentions of dying anytime soon."

Darren sniffed and nodded miserably, though he clearly wasn't reassured. "I know that," he replied, voice till thick and husky from crying, "But… things happen, and we are in a war." He was attempting to rationalize, but it was weak and he knew it.

"What will be, will be," Crepsley knew it was not what Darren wanted to hear, he had not yet fully come around to the vampire way of seeing things, but it was the truth and he couldn't lie to the boy, even to comfort him. "There is no sense in fretting about it now. For the time being neither of us are in immediate danger. Look at yourself, Darren, you must stop this."

"I don't know how!" he cried, "I try not to think about it, I tell myself over and over how silly it is, but every time I close my eyes it's all I see!" Tears were beginning to shine in his eyes again and he didn't have the energy to hold them back.

Instinct kicked in much quicker again and Crepsley hugged him. Darren collapsed weakly against him, letting himself fall into the comfort of Mr. Crepsley's arms. Resting his ear on his chest he listened to the steady beat of Crepsley's heart, letting it wash over him, burying himself in the fact that he was warm and alive.

"Perhaps you should spend the rest of the day in my coffin with me," Crepsley suggested.

Darren's heart leapt. To spend the entire day pressed in close to Mr. Crepsley, feeling his warmth, listening to his heartbeat, just the thought made him feel safe and secure. He nodded, trying not to look too eager.

Crepsley stood and Darren followed him meekly into his cell. As they climbed into the coffin he expected it to be awkward, but it wasn't, in spite of his usual aversions to coffins. It felt as though he fit perfectly into the space, Crepsley's body curving in exactly the places for his own body to fit.

Crepsley closed the lid, enveloping them in darkness and it was exactly as Darren had imagined it. He snuggled into Crepsley's chest, laying his head over his heart, comforted by the steady sound of his breathing.

Darren closed his eyes and quickly dropped off into a deep, peacefully dreamless sleep.

Crepsley however took longer to drift off, laying awake listening to Darren's quiet snores. He thought over Darren's dream. Most of it had been comprised of memories as Darren had said, no doubt brought on by the recent traumatic chain of events. The last part however was different; Kurda had never come even close to stabbing him. Vampires put great stock in dreams; they were fully aware that in sleep the subconscious mind could reveal many things the conscious would never pick up on.

Maybe his death would come sooner than he'd planned.

**FINIS :)**


End file.
